


Saints in Paradise

by vega_voices



Series: Imzadi [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Betazoid, F/M, Gen, Imzadi, Love Stories, Occupation of Bajor, Pre-Canon, Space idiots, The Bajorans, beginning of the epic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: “You don’t have to lie,” she said with a smile. “Absolutely no up and coming junior officer wants to be stationed planetside. Especially a planet like Betazed.”





	Saints in Paradise

**Title:** Saints in Paradise  
**Author:** vegawriters  
**Series:** Imzadi  
**Fandom:** Star Trek: The Next Generation  
**Pairing:** Deanna Troi/Will Riker  
**Rating:** Teen (some brief mention of war trauma)  
**Timeframe:** Pre-Canon  
**A/N:** We all know the epic novels that Peter David wrote about how Will and Deanna got together. The catch is, what he wrote and how the show unfolded don’t actually match up. I mean, just the fact that some instances say it was just two years between when Will left Betazed, others say it was more like eight are an issue. Also, the book is terrible. No offence, Peter. It’s still a favorite of mine. So, I’m trying to put some of the biggest pieces together and make it make a little bit more sense. I hope this works!  
**Timeline Notes:** According to Memory Alpha, [Deanna Troi](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Deanna_Troi) and [Will Riker](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/William_T._Riker) meet on Betazed in 2359, shortly after her graduation from Starfleet Academy. I'm making a small amendment to that timeline, putting them on Betazed together from 2360-2362, given that Memory Alpha's timeline for Will is not quite as specific. They are assigned to the Enterprise together in 2364.  
**Disclaimer:** Star Trek is owned by corporations larger than I. However, they still publish fanfic from time to time, and they have been known to truly support the fandoms. They’ve also been known to be jackasses. So. Guess what. I don’t make a dime off of this. Star Trek is for everyone. Always.

 **Summary:** _“You don’t have to lie,” she said with a smile. “Absolutely no up and coming junior officer wants to be stationed planetside. Especially a planet like Betazed.”_

**Betazed, 2360  
4 Years before Encounter at Farpoint**

 

This was not at all what he had in mind.

When Will Riker had shown up at the gates of Starfleet Academy, backpack slung over his shoulder, refusing to look back on the father he’d left behind, he’d dreamed of following Jim Kirk to the stars. He was going to rise up out of the ashes, rise above the mountains. He’d be a captain before 35 - the youngest in history if he had his way.

Now, standing at the gates of the Federation Embassy on Betazed, his pack slung over his shoulder, it took everything in him to keep professional. He was never going to make captain if he wasn’t serving on a ship. How could his promotion have meant moving him back planetside? If going from an Ensign to a Lieutenant meant this, he might have stayed an Ensign.

Get used to it, Will, his mentor back at the academy had told him. They’ll send you where they know you’ll do the most good. How was being here doing the most good?

Sucking it up, Will stepped through the glass doors of the embassy and made his way to the desk, where a woman with regal features, long blonde hair, and bright black eyes greeted him with a nod.

“Hello,” she said, her voice curving into a slight accent. “How can I help you, Lieutenant?”

He glanced around. “I’m reporting for duty.”

“The Starfleet command center is through the doors to the left. You’ll check in with Ensign Fullbright.”

Will nodded and made his way across the lobby and stepped through the sliding doors. A black woman with wide green eyes looked up and smiled as he entered. “Lieutenant Riker?” She asked as she stood.

“Reporting as ordered.”

“I’ll take you back. Welcome to Betazed.”

Will followed the ensign down a hallway to a conference room that overlooked the back of the embassy campus. Living quarters for Starfleet and Federation personnel stationed to the planet were laid out in a semicircle, shaded from the tropical heat with trees and ferns and brightly colored canopies. As he entered, an Andorian woman rose to her feet. “Lieutenant Riker!” She held out her hand. “I’m Commander Sahra. Welcome! We’ve been looking forward to your arrival.”

Riker returned the gesture and handed over the drive with his transfer orders. “It’s a pleasure, Commander.”

“You don’t have to lie,” she said with a smile. “Absolutely no up and coming junior officer wants to be stationed planetside. Especially a planet like Betazed.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond. If he agreed with the sentiment, he set up the potential to be remembered as someone who complained. If he disagreed, he was being disingenuous. Carefully, he took the middle ground. “It was a surprise,” he said. “But I do look forward to the challenge of commanding the team assigned to the Embassy.”

“A perfectly political answer,” Sahra said. “And we wouldn’t have selected you for this if we didn’t think you had the command skills in place. Just because Betazed is quiet doesn’t mean there aren’t logistical concerns to manage with the government and with how Starfleet and the Federation does things. In addition, you’ll be in charge of a lot of people with a higher rank than you. But you’re the right man for the job.”

Riker nodded, still uncomfortable with being behind a desk but appreciating the vote of confidence.

“I’ll be here for two more weeks,” Sahra was saying. “When I jet off, you’ll be ready to take over.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Riker replied.

“Let’s get you settled in barracks and tour the facility. I have a meeting to introduce you to the team at nineteen-hundred. There’s a reception tonight with the staff of the embassy and tomorrow you’ll officially take command.” Sahra came around the table and Will fell into step next to her. “A few things to just know right off the bat, things I wish the officer I took over from had told me. First, the Betazoids are the single most laid-back people I’ve ever met. If they say they’ll be there right on the hour, give yourself fifteen minutes. The Starfleet officers have assimilated to punching a clock but we’ve found it better to adapt to the routine of the planet.”

“Wait.” Will furrowed his brow. “So you let officers be late?”

“Within reason. You can run things how you see fit, of course. It’s your command. But the reality is that things are pretty quiet around here. The Betazoids are artists and philosophers. They gave up their military force - which wasn’t much to begin with - when they joined the Federation. You’ll have a lot of downtime. Use it to study. Trust me, it will come in handy.” Sahra led him out into the courtyard where the early afternoon heat was already pressing down on them. “Here in the capital city, they also tend to take a midday break. It’s different on each continent of course, but here when it gets so warm, they just relax. We’ve adapted our work cycles here as well.”

“How often do your teams visit the other major cities?”

“I take a team once a week to the government centers in a major city. Spend the day. It takes about six months to get through everything and then I start over again.”

They arrived at the bunk that would be his bed for the next two weeks before he took over Sahra’s living quarters. Will dumped his pack and followed Sahra out and back to a covered table. She took a seat and will sat across from her, suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of what resembled lilacs.

“It’s just about the most beautiful place I’ve ever served,” the Andorian was saying. And then, her antenna perked up and she settled in for business.

“Main thing you’re gonna have to get over real fast - if you don’t like honesty and candor, ask for a transfer. The Betazoids don’t have time for humanoid dithering. Even the empaths around here can tell when you’re being an idiot. They’ll call you on it. After a while, it’s refreshing, but it takes time to get used to it. Just letting you know.”

Will groaned. “Great. So they all know I’m not sure about being here anyway?”

Sahra laughed. “Yep. And now, the details: there are fifteen officers stationed on the planet, all based here in the city but often off doing other work. Most are science officers, working with the Betazoids on different research and development projects. You have two security officers as well.” She scrolled the padd in her hand, clearly looking for her bullet points.

“One of your key headaches is going to be helping to maintain the support of the Bajoran refugee population. Betazed is one of the few planets that has opened their resources to the Bajorans, but you can imagine that the Cardassians aren’t all that happy with a Federation world supporting a group of people they consider to be fugitives.”

“I know that on many worlds, the Bajorans are outcasts.”

“Not so much here. The Betazoids and the Bajorans, they have a similar history. They were artists and scientists while both of our worlds were still inventing fire.” They shared a smile. “However, all displaced populations have trouble with resettling, and the Bajorans have a dream of returning home. Your job is to assist, quietly, with medical and housing support. But don’t do it in a way that will anger the Cardassians. Betazed is a sanctuary planet and they intend to stay that way.”

Riker’s stomach roiled. The plight of the Bajoran people had never really been on his radar screen. It was a crisis in a different sector of space and the Federation had taken a neutral stance on the issue. Now he had to manage politics for a situation that could impact relations with an aggressive enemy? “How many refugees are there?”

“There are four settlements, all with about ten thousand people in each, and another ten thousand who have chosen not to live in the settlements but instead have blended into the world.”

Riker blinked. Fifty-thousand people on a planet of three billion wasn’t truly a large percentage. But if the Cardassians considered the Bajorans to be fugitives, then it was a headache to manage.

But Sahra had moved on, giving him the rundown of three scientific projects Starfleet was involved with. It was a rundown of the mission briefing, but he appreciated the chance to chat one-on-one about it.

The wind shifted and the doors to the patio opened. Riker glanced over to see, quite frankly, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen come walking toward them. He loved women. Loved them. He felt, quite frankly, that most women were the walking embodiment of beauty. But she left every single one in the dust.

She wasn’t tall, but she carried herself with a regal carriage that made her seem it. She was curvy, but athletic. Dark curls spilled out of a jeweled headband, resting against alabaster skin. Her black eyes and red lips brought the Snow White myth to life and Riker realized he was staring and she was smirking.

Damnit. What was that about honesty and candor?

“Dee!” Sahra said, getting to her feet. “What brings you here?”

“I realized I hadn’t written down when you were leaving and I wanted to come say good-bye.”

“Two weeks, actually. Don’t kick me off yet.”

The andorian looked to Riker, who was now climbing to his feet. “Lieutenant Riker, meet Lieutenant Deanna Troi.”

Riker blinked. That name was definitely not in his roster list and the woman’s long blue skirt and loose fitting tank top were hardly regulation.

The raven-haired beauty bowed just slightly. The Betazoids did not shake hands, not traditionally, he’d read in his mission briefing. They preferred, the notes said, to wait until establishing the other party was comfortable with touch.

“I’m on leave,” the woman replied to his unasked question, her voice thick with an accent that resembled the woman at the front desk of the Embassy. “I’m finishing up a degree in psychology before returning to Starfleet.”

“Deanna is a master of first contact protocol,” Sahra said. “And already holds two degrees in psychology.”

Deanna blushed. “Sahra likes to point that out because she doesn’t understand how anyone could hold one degree, let alone three.”

“I’m afraid I’m in her corner there,” Riker said, unable to take his eyes off of Deanna. “But I commend you. And Starfleet will welcome you back when you are ready, I am sure.”

Deanna nodded her head and then turned back to Sahra. “I’m so glad I haven’t missed you. We’ll have dinner before you leave.”

“Yes.”

“There’s a reception tonight …” Will started, feeling a bit dumb. Especially when Deanna smiled.

“I know. But unfortunately, I’m working at the hospital tonight.” She bowed her head again. “It was wonderful to meet you, Lieutenant. I’m sure we will see more of each other.” And with that, she was gone.

Riker swallowed and tried to focus as he sat back down.

“She is a fantastic resource. Deanna is a daughter of the 5th House, so she’s an automatic in with both Starfleet and the diplomatic corps. And, she has worked extensively with the Bajoran refugees, so she’s an asset there as well.”

“Three degrees?”

“Betazed is the Federation’s foremost school on psychology and first contact. Starfleet Academy’s psychological training was developed by the Betazoid school.” Sahra smiled. “And no, unlike the Vulcans, they take no credit for it. They just want good out in the universe. They’re an annoying people,” she said, a tinge of love in her voice. Clearly, the Andorian had enjoyed her time here.

“The 5th House?” Riker asked. Clearly, he hadn’t done his research in the right way. He’d read in his mission briefing about the leadership being an elected representative structure.

“Betazed is, technically, an aristocracy,” Sahra said. “But since Federation worlds agreed to give up monarchies, they compromised.” Sahra laughed. "Basic rundown is that they were a monarchy that is now a representative democracy but most of the elected representatives are members of the aristocracy. Not just because of legacy power but they are genuinely popular with the people. Most of the diplomatic corps? Same. But, they work. It isn’t just for show. Deanna is a daughter of the 5th House, which is, if I understand it, the 5th Dynasty that came to and held power. They've held their position for hundreds of years. That she was allowed to enter Starfleet is actually a miracle. They like to keep the children of the high houses close to the vest. But, her mother is a bit eccentric, so. That's fun.” Sahra smiled. “All right, let’s rundown the schedule this week.”

Riker tried to focus, and retained most of what was said, but all he could think about was the woman who had just wandered in to say hello to a friend and then wandered out again. Thank God she was on leave. Having to be her direct commander here would be hell.

Hopefully he wouldn’t see her that often, despite Sahra’s comments about her skills. Hopefully by tonight, she would be one more face in a sea of them.

Hopefully.

***

_Hello, Little One!_

Deanna sighed as she closed the door behind her. She removed her sandals and made her way across the mansion to where her mother sat in her study. Too tired to really form mental words, she broadcast a feeling of love and welcoming to her mother, hoping the message would come across that she wasn’t in the mood for a long talk. Other than the brief break of new officer eye candy that came along with stopping by to talk to Sahra, today had been hard. A new group of refugees had stumbled through the doors, seeking asylum, and as always the first stop was the hospital. There was a little Bajoran girl in the hospital who hadn’t spoken since before she’d been bundled up and raced from the planet with, Deanna had learned, family friends.

“She watched the Cardassians set fire to her parents,” the woman, a frail Bajoran refugee named Kaylah Los had said.

It wasn’t so much that Deanna was shocked anymore by the stories she heard from the refugees, but that she wasn’t. She could not fathom the trauma she felt from the refugees. Especially from the children.

“What’s her name?” Deanna asked, trying to catch the blank stare of the little girl.

“Le’a Rean,” Los replied.

“Rean,” Deanna tried to coax. But the girl was locked away inside her mind.

New refugee days were always hard, but tonight had stayed with her. And suddenly, despite her exhaustion and lack of desire to go fifteen rounds about her chosen profession, she was glad to wrap her arms around her mother and revel in her love and stability.

_What is it, Little One?_

Deanna sighed. _Long day, Mother. I’m going to go to bed, actually. We’ll talk in the morning._

Projecting the words took the last of her energy and Deanna barely made it to her suite before falling to her bed, clothes still on.

She woke to find that at some point in the night, her mother had at least covered her with a shawl. Deanna groaned and rolled over, checking notifications on her personal padd before rising to rinse the dirt from her eyes. It was mid-morning, as was usually the case with her night shift, and her first class wasn’t until early afternoon. She showered, letting the hot water work out the tension in her neck, and by the time she’d piled her curls into a loose bun on top of her head and dressed for the warning heat in a loose fitting dress, the lingering tendrils of the night before had faded. Well. Most of them. Her subconscious poked at her, reminding her she'd dreamed of a gentle man with bright blue eyes. But she'd also dreamed of refugee camps and flight.

The Federation had to do something to help the Bajorans.

Slowly, she descended the stairs, glad for the quiet of the house. Her mother was gone, leaving Deanna with their devoted cook, an older woman named Letha. Letha’s family had been dedicated to the high houses for generations, but Letha was the last of her line. Her own children had joined Starfleet or the Diplomatic corps, and none wanted to give that up to come back to the planet and cook for royalty.

Deanna didn’t blame them.

 _Good morning, Letha_ , Deanna projected as she entered the airy kitchen. A plate of fruit and yogurt waited for her, sitting next to a cup of chocolate coffee. Oh, she loved this woman.

Letha smiled her own greeting and moved outside to the herb garden on the south side of the house. Deanna settled in to enjoy breakfast, relishing the silence and the chance to breathe and re-center for the day.

The hospital was so noisy, so exhausting. The trauma of the refugees, the pain of those who had been traumatized psychically, the fear of those whose mental states did not allow them to operate comfortably in a reality created by others. She loved her work, but she couldn’t deny the appeal of returning to Starfleet. Taking on the emotions of a starship or managing a first contact experience felt so much more contained. Then again, if her mother had it her way, she’d stay home and help with the planetside diplomatic corps. After all, Lwaxana chirped from time to time, there is a wedding you are bonded for.

That was a whole other issue to unpack, really. Especially since she knew her mother really didn’t want much to do with her bonded betrothed either. But after this rotation, after this degree, she was going back into Starfleet.

Breakfast finished, Deanna rose and washed her dishes herself, put them away, and went to gather her things for the day. She had two classes of her own, plus the one she was teaching in conjunction with her degree program. She caught a transport down to campus, losing her thoughts in the exam presentation she had to give, and running over her schedule at the hospital tonight. Really though, she couldn’t stop thinking about the little girl from last night, the dead stare in her eyes, the way the other Bajorans could barely stand under the weight of the trauma they carried.

She needed to find a way to breathe, to not take on too much of their trauma. It had been one of her weaknesses her entire life - her ability to sense emotions could, at times, become overwhelming. She dreamed of having her mother’s free spirit when it came to mental powers, but staying rigidly behind her walls kept her own soul safe. Kept her able to function. All of her life, this emotion had been channeled into action - into study, into Starfleet. But now, it just didn’t feel like it was enough.

The transport wound its way past the Embassy and she stared at the glass building. How many people petitioned daily for the Bajorans? How many even knew what was happening?

She sighed. Sahra wouldn’t be in a position to do anything, but maybe the new commander would sit down with her. And it wasn’t like she was isolated from the diplomatic corps.

But the Federation had taken a neutral stance.

She had no idea what to do next.

Well, first she had to get to class.

Disembarking from the transport, she stopped and glanced around central campus, as she did every day. She’d studied on Earth, on Vulcan, and even spent a semester on Pacifica, learning their meditation techniques. None of those campuses compared to the heart of the university here in her home city. The architecture climbed with vines and sweet smelling flowers that wrapped scent around you in the wind. Built not to prove dominance over the surrounding vegetation but instead to co-exist with it, the buildings were winding, with open windows and breezeways. Even in the heaviest of monsoons, the buildings never flooded, the ground around them absorbing the water and ferrying it back into the surrounding plantlife. Here they lived in harmony and while Deanna knew it hadn’t always been the case with her people, that ancestral generations had endured centuries of civil war that had ripped the world apart, the Betazoid people had come to a true peace within the larger consciousness of the universe and the peace was felt everywhere.

This, she knew, was part of why her mother could not understand her desire to return to Starfleet. Why leave paradise?

Deanna, darling, can’t you just serve the embassy here?

But what her mother couldn’t understand, was the call of the stars her father loved more than anything. Despite it being twenty years since his death, she could still feel his imprint on her memory, on her emotions. She still dreamed of climbing to the uppermost section of the house, peering into his telescope, gasping at the ships in orbit. Paradise, she knew, could also be a trap.

She sighed as she slipped into the classroom and set her padd down on the desk at the front of the room.

Paradise was an illusion while others suffered.

The students gathered and she surveyed the mix of psychology students from all different worlds. One young woman caught her eye. A Bajoran student named Elra Ji. She was young, determined to take the skills she was learning here back to the refugee camps.

“Elra,” she said, starting them off. The woman stood. “Explain the third level of metaconscious trauma and how recovery skills can assist even non-telepaths.”

Elra spoke quietly, the universal translators not quite able to filter out her thick, musical accent. Deanna had called on Elra because of her desire to learn more, to do more. And because she would put the rest of the class to shame. But mostly because Elra’s response gave Deanna time to think about her own response to the crisis unfolding around the quadrant and what it meant to be willing to speak her mind.


End file.
